


Death and Taxes

by abstractconcept



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, EWE, Humor, M/M, Slash, silliness, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grim Reaper comes for Snape—but there are <i>two</i> things in life one cannot escape, and Death is only one of them.<a id="cutid1" name="cutid1"></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Death and Taxes

**Title:** Death and Taxes [Read it here on LJ](http://the-con-cept.livejournal.com/455034.html#cutid1)  
**Pairing:** Snape/Harry  
**Rating:** Er, PG-13ish? With R-ish implications, but no actual sex?  
**Thanks** : Thanks to [](http://angela-snape.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://angela-snape.livejournal.com/)**angela_snape** for the beta! *smooches* All further mistakes are my own.  
**Word count:** 3,400+  
**Contains:** Humor, EWE, Discworld crossover (though I don’t think you’ll need to be familiar with Discworld to enjoy this) and Death. Er, not ‘character death,’ but DEATH. And mentions of candle wax. Also, a nod to Douglas Adams. :D  
**Summary:** The Grim Reaper comes for Snape—but there are _two_ things in life one cannot escape, and Death is only one of them.

****

Death and Taxes

The black desert unfurled behind Death. It was endless—or it could be, anyway. It depended on the deceased. For some people, it was practically a sandbox. For others, it took a lifetime to cross. Death ignored it. It was just a sort of metaphor anyway. Metaphors were human things, and like most human things, they were strange and rather unfathomable.

Death looked down at the hourglass in his hand. “THIS REALLY IS MOST IRREGULAR.” The sands were running backwards, and didn’t seem to be sand at all. In fact, when he peered closely, he could see that each grain was actually—“TELL ME, DID YOU HAPPEN TO BE A MATHEMATICIAN?”

The sour man with the large nose glared at him. “No.”

“AN ACCOUNTANT, PERHAPS?”

“Certainly not. Why?”

“BECAUSE EACH GRAIN OF YOUR SAND APPEARS TO BE A LITTLE RED NUMBER.”

The man tilted his head. “Like a dress?”

“WHAT?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And while I’m somewhat familiar with scripture, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of cross-dressing being a substantial part of the afterlife.”

“WHAT ABOUT THE LONG WHITE ROBES? YOU DO NOT FIND THEM SOMEWHAT EFFEMINATE?” Death turned the hourglass over in his hands. It didn’t seem to make much difference.

“I prefer black.”

“AS DO I.” Death hadn’t seen anything like this since the birth of Music with Rocks In when that boy had been kept alive by the music in his soul. For awhile, anyway. He peered at the name on the hourglass. “SEVERUS SNAPE, YOU _SHOULD_ BE DEAD. BUT SOMETHING NUMERICAL SEEMS TO BE HAPPENING TO YOU. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT COULD BE?”

Severus Snape cleared his throat and looked away. “I couldn’t tell you, I’m sure.”

Death didn’t know what to think of this. You couldn’t _cheat_ Death, but you _could_ lie to him. Perhaps it didn’t really matter in the end. He lifted his scythe. “LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN.”

Before he could complete the arc, Death felt the sensation of falling backward. “OH, BOTHER.”

“Are you all right?” Severus Snape asked. He reached out to steady the Entity, and they were suddenly both falling backwards.

The world shivered and glittered and _twisted_ , and suddenly the desert was gone. They were standing in a dungeon. There were dribbly candles and overstuffed leather chairs, books from floor to ceiling, a dingy little bed, and a stuffed crocodile hanging above it all.

“AH. A WIZARD’S CHAMBERS.”

“ _My_ chambers,” Snape replied.

Death was annoyed. You were supposed to walk across the desert. It was a sort of test. Walking across one’s own room, Death felt, was rather cheating.

There was a circle of candles and a scruffy young man staring at him. “It worked!”

“MR. POTTER? I HAD NO APPOINTMENT WITH YOU TONIGHT.”

Harry Potter shivered. “I know that.” He looked warily at the seven-foot tall skeleton in midnight robes and the silver blade of the scythe, so sharp it glowed Octatrine at the edge. Muggles couldn’t see it, but if they could, they’d probably describe it as a greenish-purple. Harry could see it. All wizards could.

“DID YOU NEED SOMETHING?” Death asked. “ONLY I’M RATHER BUSY.”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say, according to the ancient text,” Harry pointed out. He seemed a little miffed.

Death rolled his eyes. “AND WHY HAST THOU SUMMONED ME, _MORTAL?_ ” he asked, putting just a little emphasis on the last word.

Harry swallowed hard. “Oh. Well. That’s more like it,” he managed. “I—I’m here to snatch Severus Snape from the jaws of death,” he said, planting his fists on his hips and puffing out his chest.

“THAT IS NOT GENERALLY HOW I DO THINGS,” Death pointed out. “I USE A SCYTHE. I’M WELL KNOWN FOR IT. I DO NOT, AND NEVER HAVE, GNAWED ON THE DYING. THAT WOULD BE UNDIGINFIED FOR BOTH OF US.”

“It’s just an expression.”

“INDEED? I WONDER IF THAT’S WHERE THE IDEA OF THE PEARLY GATES STEMS FROM.” Death returned to the matter at hand. “AT ANY RATE, I AM AFRAID YOU CANNOT RETURN HIM TO LIFE. IT WOULD BE AGAINST THE RULES.”

“No, no, no. In the first place, he’s not dead. I’m sure of it. He can’t be. He’s just nearly dead. He’s at death’s door, but not dead.”

Death looked around. “NO, THIS IS WRONG. I AM SURE OF IT.”

“Why?” Harry challenged. “Just because he isn’t breathing? Just because he has no pulse?”

Death blinked, the blue supernovas deep in his eye sockets going dark for a moment. “NO. BECAUSE MY DOOR IS LARGE AND BLACK AND HAS A DOORKNOCKER IN THE SHAPE OF AN OMEGA. AND IT IS NOT HERE. I AM CERTAIN IT IS STILL ATTACHED TO MY HOUSE.”

“I—what? It was a metaphor.”

“I SEE. I AM NOT GOOD WITH METAPHORS,” Death informed Harry gravely.

“I can tell.” Harry said. “Well, let me explain something to you. Modern science and wizardry have seen dead people return to life. Really! There was a woman who passed out in a snow bank and was nearly frozen solid, and when they went to do her autopsy, up she popped, good as new! Not even a touch of frostbite! And Muggles have these machines that can jolt a stopped heart into starting again. Not to mention wizards and electrical enchantments.”

Death began to have a suspicion. “DID YOU PUT DIGITS INSIDE THIS MAN?”

“Er, not yet,” Harry said.

“HIS SOUL IS FILLED WITH NUMBERS. DO YOU HAVE SOME IDEA OF WHY THIS MIGHT BE?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe. Sort of.”

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF,” Death said coldly.

“Well, there are, um, levies on Spinner’s End, for starters. He’s also asset rich, but cash poor. His potions are worth a fortune, but we haven’t even started assessing which ones are actually legal. There also appear to be customs duties still owed on some of the foreign potions ingredients. There’s also some evidence he made a killing at selling potions overseas, so there’s bound to be some liability there. But the goblins aren’t sure where that money went. He also inherited some bonds from his mother, which I understand are probably exempt. And then there’s evidence that he never paid statutory fees for the compulsory broom test and broom registration. And that’s just for starters. It’s all a big mess, and according the goblins, he’s been getting away with murder. So to speak. Sorry, sir,” Harry added with a nod to Severus.

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” Death was lost.

“The W.I.T.s. Snape never paid any!”

“WHAT ARE W.I.T.s?”

“Wizarding Income Taxes. He’s either been avoiding them or evading them or ignoring them, but the collectors have come, and they want their money.”

“I AM DEATH, NOT TAXES. _I_ DO NOT GET WORSE EVERY YEAR.”

Harry shrugged. “See, Snape’s body wasn’t even cold yet when this bugger showed up.” He pointed to the black and white bird on his shoulder, which bobbed in acknowledgment. “It wouldn’t leave me alone. Kept trying to steal Galleons right out of my pockets. Then Ron told me magpies work for the goblins—the Wizarding world’s tax collectors. It had a note saying that as Snape’s heir, it was my job to sort out the back taxes.”

“I FAIL TO SEE WHAT ALL THIS HAS TO DO WITH ME.”

“There are only two things in life that are certain,” Harry said. “Right?”

“DEATH AND TAXES,” Death admitted.

“And can either of you be evaded forever?” Harry said.

Death looked grim. “NO, BUT YOU ARE HIS HEIR. YOU MUST PAY HIS TAXES.”

“Love to. But I don’t even know where to start.”

“SURELY IT CANNOT BE THAT DIFFICULT. I HAVE CONFIDENCE IT CAN BE SORTED OUT WITH A MINIMUM OF AGGRAVATION.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Harry said. “Here, I brought the forms.” He took a scroll out of his pocket. “This is the Wizarding tax form 100,000,000,040EZ.” As he began to read, he dropped the other end of the scroll, which trundled off out the dungeon door. Death had the feeling that, had they still been in the black desert, the length of the paper would have rivaled the length of the desert itself. They probably both went on forever. “Line one. Enter your yearly income.”

“THAT DOESN’T SEEM SO BAD.”

Snape arched a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked awfully smug for someone supposedly about to die.

“Line two. If you care for an animal listed on form112c on behalf of the government, subtract ten Galleons per animal. Let me see . . . form 112c lists dragons, including Chinese Fireballs, Swedish Shortsnouts, Norwegian Ridgebacks, and Common Welsh Greens, but excluding Ukranian Ironbellys and Romanian Longhorns, which are not permissible due to statutory rule 8541 of the Wizarding code, chimeras, hippogriffs, nifflers—”

“I THINK WE CAN SAFELY SKIP TO THE NEXT LINE,” Death interrupted.

“What? Oh. All right. Line three; if you have contributed not less than ten sickles to any Ministry candidate’s campaign in the last fiscal year, dance an Irish jig, genuflect three times, and look for your year of birth on form 85. Enter the corresponding number. Also, be sure to enclose a receipt.”

“AN IRISH JIG?” Death repeated.

“Wizarding law, I’m afraid. It’s filled with things like that,” Harry told him with a helpless shrug.

“I FIND ALL OF THIS VERY SUPSICIOUS. LET ME EXAMINE THE FORM.” Holding the scroll at eye-level, Death skimmed the complicated form. It looked legitimate, and was signed by Griphook and notarized by Tightclaw. “I AM AT A LOSS,” Death confessed.

“Really? I thought you were really powerful and really smart. Isn’t Death the great leveler?” Harry asked.

Death was confused. “I AM VERY GOOD AT SUBTRACTION,” he noted.

“Right. Well,” Harry said. “You know the rules. Death and taxes—both have to happen, eventually. The death part is fine, but we can’t finish the taxes without his help.”

“THIS IS TROUBLESOME.”

“Rules are rules,” Snape told him with a sneer. “You can’t go breaking the rules.”

“I have this sorted. Don’t get haughty with the Grim Reaper! That could be the kiss of death!” Harry hissed.

“I WOULD PREFER A HANDSHAKE. IT IS MORE SANITARY.”

“That could be the handshake of death? It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it,” Snape pointed out. He sighed. “I need a drink.”

“You could help us with the tax forms,” Harry put in. “You see, I performed the Rite of AshkEnte. It summons Death into the circle and Death is bound to that circle until I allow him to leave. And I can ask you questions, and you have to answer truthfully. So! What was Snape’s income last year?” Harry asked cheerfully.

Death shook his head. It was true—the Rite of AshkEnte required that Death stay at the wizard’s bidding and answer any question put to him. He’d never been asked _tax_ questions, though.

“THIS IS A NEW ONE ON ME,” he admitted. “TAX QUESTIONS. WHY IS IT THE PERFORMERS OF ASHKENTE ALWAYS ASK SUCH TEDIOUS THINGS? NO ONE WANTS TO KNOW MY FAVORITE COLOUR, FOR INSTANCE. NO, IT’S ALWAYS, ‘HOW DO WE STOP THESE DEMONS POPPING UP EVERYWHERE?’ OR, ‘WHAT HAPPENED TO MR. HONG AFTER HE OPENED UP THE THREE JOLLY LUCK TAKEAWAY FISH BAR ON DAGON STREET ON THE NIGHT OF A FULL MOON?’”

Harry blinked. “You want us to ask different questions?”

“IT WOULD BE A NICE CHANGE OF PACE.”

Harry and Snape exchanged a look. Harry scratched his head. “I see. Um. Read any good books lately?”

“YES, IN FACT. THOUGH I ADMIT BITS OF IT WERE PUZZLING. I’M STILL AT A LOSS AS TO HOW A TOWEL WOULD BE USEFUL IN MOST EMERGENCY SITUATIONS. NOT PANICKING, HOWEVER, SEEMS LIKE SENSIBLE ADVICE.”

“Er, that’s nice. Did you want to help us with the taxes?” Harry asked. “Or . . . would you prefer to let Snape go?”

Death pinched the bridge of what would have been his nose, if he had one. He always had hated Auditors, and had no wish to become one. And as painful as his job could sometimes be, it was never _that_ painful. “VERY WELL. HE MAY RETURN FOR NOW. JUST REMEMBER; EVENTUALLY, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, THERE WILL BE A RECKONING.”

“Good one,” Harry said.

“I’M SORRY?”

“Er, never mind. I thought you were making a tax pun.”

As Death lowered his hand, he realised Severus Snape had vanished. He glared at Harry. “I THOUGHT THE DRY CLEANERS LOST THAT,” he said.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I think you gave it to one of the three brothers,” he said.

“I FORGOT ABOUT HIM. CHEEKY LAD.” Death shook his head. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TRAVELING THROUGH THE VAST, COLD VOID OF TIME AND SPACE WITHOUT YOUR GOOD CLOAK? I GET CHILLED TO THE BONE. IT WAS A GOOD CLOAK. TOP QUALITY. MADE YOU INVISIBLE AS ANYTHING. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN SOME BUGGER WOULD TRY TO STEAL IT.”

“Sorry about that.”

“A FINE CLOAK INDEED,” Death went on, seemingly unable to let the subject go. “NEXT TIME YOU ARE OUTSIDE ON A NIPPY DAY, I HOPE YOU THINK ABOUT THAT.”

“I’m sure I will, sir. Can I go now?”

Death waved a dismissive hand. “VERY WELL. I WILL COLLECT YOU LATER.”

“Yes, sir.”

“AND I WILL BE MOST DISPLEASED IF YOU HAVEN’T DONE YOUR TAXES,” he added. “UNTIL THEN, MR. POTTER.”

“I’ll set out a drink for you. Like milk and cookies for Santa,” Harry said with a rather mad smile.

“A CURRY WOULD NOT BE UNWELCOME.”

“Sure. And a brandy, too.”

“THAT WOULD BE APPRECIATED. AND I WILL COME FOR YOU PERSONALLY, OF COURSE, AS IS EVERY WIZARD’S DUE.”

“Personal service,” Harry said weakly. “It’s those thoughtful little details that make you the best psychopomp in the business.”

Death gave him a look, and for a moment Harry looked afraid the Reaper would call him on talking out of his arse, but instead Death nodded thoughtfully after a moment. “THE VALKYRIES NEVER DID TAKE STOCK IN CUSTOMER SERVICE. I LIKE TO THINK MY POPULARITY STEMS FROM THE WAY I TAKE A PERSONAL INTEREST. PEOPLE LIKE TO FEEL IMPORTANT.”

“Right. Right. Well, when I think of, er, dying and passing from this world, Death is and always will be the thing that comes to mind. It’ll definitely be the route I choose,” Harry babbled.

“YOU ARE TOO KIND.” Death reached into his robes. Harry shifted and drew his wand, but Death just came up with a bit of paper. “I HAVE A BUSINESS CARD, IF YOU WOULD CARE TO SHARE IT ABOUT. I JUST HAD THEM DONE UP LAST WEEK.”

It had grinning skulls on it. Of course. It read, 

  


p>

It didn’t say what had been established or when. People were supposed to know, or they didn’t really need to. Harry flipped it over. Instead of a number, it read, Don’t call us. You won’t have to. 

“This is a mighty fine thing to have,” Harry said. He started to snicker. “Yes, I think I’d like to keep this. No one would ever believe me if I didn’t show it to them.”

“I WAS QUITE PLEASED WITH THEM. I THINK THEY ADD A BIT OF PANACHE TO THE WHOLE BUSINESS, DON’T YOU?”

“Absolutely. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you,” Harry said. He offered his hand, grinning.

Grinning back, Death shook it. “AND YOU AS WELL, MR. POTTER.”

 

Death vanished.

oOoOoOo

As Death disappeared, Harry looked apprehensively about the room. With Harry's cloak, Snape could hide from Harry just as easily as Death himself, and there was nothing stopping him from taking off completely. There was one way to be sure. Harry wandered over to the man’s dresser and opened one of the drawers.

“Potter, stay out of my underpants!”

“If I have to,” Harry said with a grin. He shut the drawer. “I thought maybe you left.”

“These are _my_ chambers,” Snape pointed out.

“Sorry. You can take it off, you know. We won't have your taxes finished any time soon.”

The cloak slid away, revealing Snape’s face. He seemed reluctant to take the thing off, but allowed Harry to take the cloak from him and drape it over the back of a chair. “Well, that could have gone worse, I suppose,” Snape said.

“Yeah. I almost challenged him to a Quidditch match, but I suppose this was easier,” Harry said.

“What happened to chess?”

“I’m no good at chess.”

“It’s a good thing you’re good at following at directions—when you wish. It would have been awkward and rather unseemly to have Death, harvester of souls, chasing about after a little gold ball.”

“Yeah, I reckon that’s true enough.” Harry beamed and began to circle the Potions Master, whistling cheerfully. “Well, this _is_ a turn up for the books, isn’t it?”

Snape glared. “What are you on about?”

Harry stopped when they were nose to nose—or would have been, if Harry were four inches taller. “Why'd you go and name me your heir?” Harry asked.

Snape drew himself up and looked down his nose at Harry. “Because you're the biggest dunderhead I've ever met, and there was no way you'd be able to sort my finances out without me.”

“Really? That's why? And not because, say, I'm so incredibly loyal, determined and heroic and you knew I'd be able to pull it off and you fancy me terribly?”

“What? No!”

“Are you sure?” Harry wiggled his eyebrows. He adjusted his glasses and took out a scrap of paper. He read, “ _Potter, you are my heir. The Rite of AshkEnte—look it up. I never paid my W.I.T.s. Have fun with that. Either you have to sort it out or death can't claim me. Either way, I win. Ha ha. Signed, Snape._ ”

“So?”

Harry grinned, turned the paper over and added, “ _P.S. I adore you and will do lots of delightfully nasty, dirty things to you if you snatch me from the jaws of death. Love and kisses, Severus._ ”

“I'm almost certain I never wrote that last bit," Snape told him dryly. He paused. "What sort of nasty, dirty things?” he added, examining his fingernails.

“Oh, you know. The usual.”

“You don’t even know any ‘usual,’ let alone anything unusual enough to be fun,” Snape pointed out, the corner of his mouth curling up in amusement.

Harry laughed. “All right. It’s your choice. I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Naked. With a lot of candles and candle wax.”

Snape straightened his ghostly cuffs and tried to suppress a smile. “I think I ought to retrieve my physical body and have a bit of a wash before I join you,” he said.

“Oh. Right. Sure. Keep the cloak, just in case,” Harry told him. “Griffyndor tower? See you there?”

“I don’t know if candle wax is sufficiently sadistic for a man of my temperament,” Snape observed. “We may have to resort to working on those taxes after all.”

Harry laughed. “See you in an hour. Bring lube.” He winked. “And a really good calculator, just in case you truly feel kinky.”

“As you wish,” Snape acknowledged. He watched as Potter undid his tie and dropped it at Snape’s feet. Then he toed a shoe off and left it in Snape’s doorway. “What are you doing?” Snape demanded.

“It’s like a trail of breadcrumbs,” Harry explained, unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll leave an item of clothing every so often in case you forget the way. We’ll just have to hope I don’t run out too soon.” Harry left, saluting Snape with a sock.

Snape laughed quietly as he slipped on the Invisibility Cloak. “Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“Doubt it,” Harry teased. “Sex is good exercise. I plan on getting you in really good shape.” Potter was already rucking up his shirt, wantonly stripping right in the hall, so eager for Snape’s cock he could barely control himself. Snape watched as the boy notice him staring. Harry paused; his fingers drew a silken trail down his throat, caressed his chest, and traversed his stomach to skim the bulge in his jeans.

Snape wet his lips. “All right, so perhaps you won’t be the literal death of me,” the man acknowledged. “But do you know something?”

“What?” Harry asked, a smile in his voice.

“You tax me,” Snape told him.

He could Harry laughing helplessly all the way back up the stairs as Snape went to retrieve his body. It was going to be a long night. A long, _lovely_ night.


End file.
